


Just One Question

by TaleWorthTelling



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Humor, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWorthTelling/pseuds/TaleWorthTelling
Summary: The first thing Jim learned about Captain Steve Rogers was not that he had a cock worthy of his beloved Ebbets Field. It was just the thing he always wished he could tell people about his captain, years down the line, that he couldn’t share.
Relationships: Jim Morita & Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Just One Question

The first thing Jim learned about Captain Steve Rogers was not that he had a cock worthy of his beloved Ebbets Field. It was just the thing he always wished he could tell people about his captain, years down the line, that he couldn’t share. Probably because the man had been so hard to read, so hard to get to know, so serious. He’d done so many extraordinary things since that first dramatic, intense night when he’d rescued them. Jim would follow him, of that much he was sure—would trust and respect him as he would any CO who’d proved his salt and any man who’d saved his ass. But that day in the stream, with their clothes and gear on rocks and half the boys playing lookout, was the first time he really saw Rogers with his guard down. Really saw him as a person, not a righteous one-man storm come to rain fire and fury down on their enemies. 

Steve Rogers was just a guy who slipped barefoot on slimy river rocks and had to lift his dick to scrub his balls like the rest of them. It just so happened that he needed those outrageous muscles to heft it out of the way. 

Jim tried not to stare. Well, mostly. He had some idea of what was rude and tried sometimes not to do it. At the very least, he didn’t go out of his way to do things that would embarrass his parents. But some things beggared belief.

Rogers caught him staring, naturally. He shrugged, not even pretending to be shy, not even turning around or curling into himself or anything. Just kept washing with nary a pause. 

And you know what? Fair enough. Jim resumed his washing, resolutely refused to worry about how his perfectly reasonably-sized prick compared to the unreasonable heat the captain was packing, and shook himself like a dog when he got out of the water. 

It was nice to be clean for a change. That was the important thing.

The thing was, once he got something in his head, he had trouble letting it go. A few nights later, bunked down by a low-smoldering fire, bright as they dared, he rolled over and looked at Steve across the flickering embers separating them and asked, bold as ever, “But does it get bigger? When you get a hard-on? Because you could kill someone with that thing, Cap.”

And the _look_ Rogers fixed on him, as the rest perked up with their eyes wide…

Rogers laughed as long and hard as he dared. Then he looked at Jim again, smiled, and tipped headlong into more peals of laughter. And then, still chuckling, he rolled over to try and get some sleep.

Question unanswered, Jim settled back into his bedding and relaxed with the ease of practice. 

“If you want to see him hard so bad,” Barnes piped up from the shadows, alert and keeping watch, “he oughta at least get a dance.”

“Ah, fuck you,” Jim said with no heat. He felt as relaxed and good-natured as a guy could be in a war zone. “Like you never wondered. Didn’t you say you grew up together? You have to have seen that thing.”

“How much time and brainpower do you suppose I’ve devoted to Steve Rogers’ cock?”

“Apparently not as much as Jim.”

“He looks downright haunted.”

Rogers’ shoulders were still shaking with suppressed laughter, but there was a looseness in him that Jim hadn’t seen before. 

“We’ll stop by a seamstress’ shop when we hit civilization,” Dugan said. “Find us a tape measure and a nice lady with a big mouth and get us an answer.”

“I don’t think there is a mouth big enough,” Jim muttered.

Dugan swore. “I meant loose lips, you know? So she’d tell us. Not—aw, hell, you’re worse than me.”

Rogers’ laughter had taken on a helpless kind of quality. “Guys, c’mon, give it a rest. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

So they settled down and tried to get what rest they could, but it was the moment the history books didn’t tell you about: the moment they really started to like the guy. At least, that was the moment when Jim did.

So that was that. Sometimes they had too much to worry about for it to even come to mind, and of course there were other interesting things about the guy to wonder about, but there was a lot of hurry up and wait, so his thoughts would inevitably drift to the captain’s shorts once in a blue moon. Like when Rogers was facing down the brass. Jim knew that Rogers was in the right—he was always right—but sometimes there was an extra, juvenile satisfaction in knowing that their captain would win the literal dick-measuring contest on top of the metaphorical one taking place as their battle of wills played out. It was stupid, but every time they stomped off muttering about “the balls on that guy,” Jim couldn’t help but smile. 

And the thing was, really, that Rogers was physically impressive in every way. Not just some, and not just a little, but every way by quite a bit. He was just _more_. Dugan could drag a beam from a collapsed barn? Rogers could haul it out one-handed and heft it over one shoulder. Monty could jump a stream? Rogers could jump a rushing creek. Jacques could tuck and roll falling from a tree and hop up just a little dazed? Rogers could jump from a roof, from an exploding tank, from a high wall—no marks, not even a rung bell, just got up and kept moving if he didn’t land on his feet. And he usually did. The beating that man’s knees could take was unreal. He couldn’t even tell if it hurt and Rogers ignored it or if he barely felt it at all. 

And it wasn’t just his strength or endurance, the way he could get by without sleep or withstand things that they most certainly could not. Not even the way he handled and recovered from injuries that in anyone else would be career-ending, would be life-altering—would be life-ending, sometimes. Watching him on the move was incredible: the speed, the agility, the reflexes and instincts. Generally when the captain was fighting, Jim was a little busy himself, so the times when he got to see it up close, he had other things to worry about. But sometimes—later, after the fracas—he’d remember and be struck by something that just about blew his mind. 

Hell, even the man’s senses were turned up to a scary degree. He was extraordinary. For the most part, Jim didn’t linger too much on it. He just appreciated how Cap had his back and used those incredible abilities to keep them all breathing. He focused more on the man himself, when the boredom dragged his mind to odd places. 

It wasn’t until six months in that he finally asked the question that had settled on his tongue countless times and gone unvoiced. Frost blanketed the landscape as far as Jim could see. Cap might be able to see farther, for all he knew, but either way, the chill was brutal for this boy from Fresno. The men were asleep, but he and Cap were keeping watch back-to-back, supposedly to keep each other warm but probably for Jim’s sake. Cap was a furnace behind him. 

He rolled his shoulders, flexing his arms all the way down, rubbing his fingers, trying not to jostle Cap too much with his shifting. Thought about sitting on his hands, nixed that. 

Finally, voice low, eyes on the trees, he said it: “Were you always like this?”

Cap didn’t answer right away. Didn’t move. Just breathed deep.

“Lotsa hush-hush around you, Cap. But I think I’ve seen enough weird shit by now to believe just about anything.”

Cap shifted, moving against Jim. “No,” he said evenly. “I wasn’t always like this. But I’m grateful to be doing something with it worth doing.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah.”

They were quiet for a while more, but then, with that same prescience that had spooked Jim before, Cap spoke just as Jim opened his mouth. “No, didn’t make it bigger. Was always like that. Thanks for asking. Good talk, Jim.”

He took a moment to be slightly abashed, but Cap hadn’t sounded annoyed. He’d sounded amused. 

Jim smiled. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Cap’s shoulders gently bumped his as he chuckled quietly, easy and free.

The big stories were the ones he told, down the line—jumping off of exploding tanks, outrageous battle plans that actually worked. That kind of thing. The real showy ones. Good for the guys at the bar, the historians knocking at the door, even for his kids. But the little things were the ones that really stuck with him—the warmth of the captain at his back, solid and real, just a man beneath it all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going through my files to try to polish up and post a bunch of old, unfinished stories. This one made me smile, so I thought I'd share it first.


End file.
